I was the girl in high school with all A’s.

I was told my whole life how smart I was and how proud I made my family. I took great pride in academics because that was what I excelled in, what defined me, what maintained my self-confidence and self-esteem.

I naively allowed "good grades" to determine my worth.

My value.

I set off for college at 17 years old and eight years later I graduated with a doctorate degree.

I had my whole life planned with the highest of expectations for myself and anyone in my closest circle.

Naturally that extended to my first born.

I just knew my baby girl would be a genius and pick up reading at two years old.

Obviously.

We would spend our days in Gifted and Talented programs looking for ways to challenge her and keep her involved in activities to provide her the most incredible opportunities in life.

Naturally, she would come home with her clothespin on green every single day which translates to outstanding behavior. She would probably go to an Ivy League school and contribute to the world in some tremendous way.

Fast forward and today I have an exquisitely beautiful 12 year old daughter who cannot read or write or count, yet.

A daughter with autism, ADHD and speech delay.

A daughter that has brought home more clothespins on red than most families will ever see.

A daughter the medical field and public school system have labeled as intellectually disabled.

A daughter that has made me belly laugh more than anyone in my whole life.

A daughter that has gifted me perspective that replaces loss with gratitude and disappointment with new found wonder time and time again.

A daughter with the sweetest spirit and tremendous heart of a helper.

Society engineers us to believe that perfect parenting equates to kids with all A’s and green behavior stickers on the daily.

Society engineers us to believe that perfect parenting equates to raising kids that become adults with a degree, career, spouse, children, a spacious 3 bed 2 bath with new vehicles in the driveway and a golden doodle in the front manicured lawn.

My daughter’s life and spirit has literally forced my predetermined, preprogrammed mind to redefine all that I know to be perfect parenting, all that I know to be success and all that I know to be the definition of fulfilled.

I am one valedictorian who doesn’t put an emphasis on grades. Grades now are just great ways to help my daughter learn and review letters and numbers. For my other children, grades are how we measure their effort, not their value.

I am one teacher’s pet who doesn’t let the behavior chart or clothespins wear me down. Behavior charts now are just great ways to help my daughter learn and review colors. For my other children, behavior charts are how we measure respect for their teacher and classmates, not their worth.

This can be hard and uncomfortable work for me but the truth is no professor or teacher or scholar or doctor or professional has contributed to my life more than my daughter.

She may not go to an Ivy League school but she already has contributed to the world in a tremendous way by building radical empathy in her perfectly imperfect momma.